


On The Advice Of Trees

by morwrach



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Caught in the Act, Dale Cooper puts the BI in FBI, First Kiss, Hot Black Coffee, M/M, Mild Spoilers, Mutual Pining, Setting: Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department, Small appearances from Lucy Moran & Deputy Hawk & Albert Rosenfield, Vaguely set at the beginning of Season 2, rainy weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morwrach/pseuds/morwrach
Summary: If he weren’t so distracted, he might be wondering what disquieting dream vision or hastily telephoned-in information from the Bureau had dragged Cooper out into the woods so early in the day. Instead, looking at his dishevelled appearance, Harry feels weak with love.





	On The Advice Of Trees

Thunder rumbles in the distance and Sheriff Harry Truman thanks his past self for having the foresight to set out early and avoid the worst of the rain. The downpour hammers against the windows and Coop’s beloved fir trees creak with the force of the gale, but inside his office it’s warm and dry. The Sheriff’s Department is quiet. Outside in the corridor his is the only coat on the rack, the only hat on a hook. Lucy’s booth is unlit; the intercom not yet switched on. The morning’s donut delivery has not yet arrived from Wagon Wheel Do-Nuts, though the prospect of a maple bear claw glimmers tantalisingly in the back of his mind. The phone on the table by the red chair is silent, and so is the brown phone, unbothered for now by the concerns of the town. Everything is still and calm except for the stormy weather, and even that’s par for the course in Twin Peaks. For a moment everything seems normal again, habitual and honest and good. 

He allows himself a moment of solitude, propping his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair with only a hot black coffee and his thoughts for company. Between the blinds, the rain makes patterns on the windowpane. A bird calls, a sweet trill against the whistling of the wind. He takes a sip of coffee and closes his eyes, feeling the hot burn sinking down his throat and letting go of the tension in his shoulders. Calmed, his mind wanders, as it often does in private moments these days, to Cooper. At this time of day, he’s probably getting ready to start the day at the Great Northern. Harry imagines him combing his hair neatly into place, straightening his tie, smoothing down his shirt collar with care, feeling his chin for bristles that have escaped his razor. Or maybe he’s still asleep, all tousled hair and rumpled bed sheets. He swallows around the lump in his throat which forms at the thought. It’s hard to imagine Coop in the mornings, to credit him with ever being dishevelled. Now that would be a sight to behold. He takes another burning sip of coffee and breathes out a sigh of satisfaction tinged with longing. Perhaps Cooper is also enjoying his first coffee of the morning. It’s easy to picture his beatific expression after the first gulp, and Harry feels warmed just thinking of it. He finds that he’s smiling and softly laughs at himself, shaking his head. He’s a fool to pine after Cooper, and he knows it all too well; but he was ever one to fall in love too easy and too hard, and there’s no helping it now.

Harry sighs. He’s glad there’s no-one here to find him sat in his office, daydreaming about Cooper like a lovelorn teenager. Thankfully his colleagues, and the Special Agent himself, seem oblivious to his infatuation - with the notable exception of Hawk. There’s a knowing brightness in his eyes that suggests he knows exactly what’s going on, but aside from a tiny sympathetic tilt of his mouth he hasn’t communicated anything to Harry about it. He’s grateful his Deputy is a man of subtlety and discretion, although he’s sure he’ll be on the receiving end of some pseudo-mystical advice sooner rather than later. Perhaps Hawk can teach him to repress the ache in his chest or the longing that tugs at his heart.

Casefiles are strewn across his desk between bonsai and sports trophy. The coroner’s report lies open close to his elbow, and he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the photograph of Laura Palmer’s dead face, even as the predictable wave of shock and unease comes again. Every time he looks at it his revulsion is as fresh as the first time he saw her – that bluish nose and lavender mouth, her hair and skin dirty with river water and silt, thrown away like so much garbage. The weight of the world descends on him again, heavy and grabbing, and he looks away, closing his eyes and listening to the wind in the pines, the rhythm of rain against the wet sidewalk, to the thunder moving father off. He lets himself imagine a stronger, more hopeful Twin Peaks, one in which high school girls don’t get raped and murdered, where drug dealing is the biggest issue at hand, and where an FBI special agent could fall in love with a small town Sheriff. What a world that would be.

All of a sudden, his peace and quiet is interrupted by an insistent hammering on the doors of the station which chases the last dregs of his wishful, impossible musings away. He swings his legs off of the desk and forces himself upright. The banging, which had momentarily ceased, starts up again in earnest. _Why don’t they come on in?_ he thinks wearily, before remembering that he had locked the door to stop it banging in the gale. He hurries to open it without picking up hat or jacket, heart racing and brain already jumping to conclusions – another dead girl, something at the mill, Josie back – but it’s Cooper that he finds on the other side of the glass. He practically beams when he sees Harry, lifting up one hand to give him a cheery wave that has him smiling back, fond and unrestrained. It’s only when he’s unlocked the inner set of doors and moved to unlock the outside ones that he notices Cooper is soaked to the skin. He gives him what he hopes is a look of sympathy as he fiddles with his keys.

He unlocks the left side first, before moving onto the right, and Cooper sweeps through the gap, all avid and enthusiasm and energy despite the shivers which shake his shoulders. Outside the rain still hammers down, accompanied now by a clinging mist, but the wind has thankfully abated. He leaves the doors unlocked and retreats inside to join Cooper in the warmth of the hallway where he’s waiting expectantly.

“Morning Harry! You didn’t tell me Twin Peaks had such incredible storms! I’ve never known rain like it! And the smell it gives the trees! Indescribable!”

Harry smiles. “It sure is.”

“I must ask Diane about sending a courier down here with a highly sensitive recording device. I imagine the sound of the wind and rain through the pines would be very soothing for those long sleepless nights. It can be Recording 24 – Rain For Dreams.”

He reaches into his inside pocket, as if to bring out his tape recorder before deciding against it and withdrawing his hand; instead launching into a description of a recent study of the therapeutic effects of white noise on the human psyche. Whilst Harry would normally have found any topic worthy of Cooper’s curiosity interesting, or at the very least would’ve caught some of his infectious enthusiasm, it’s hard to focus with Cooper standing in front of him looking _like that._

 _How long was he wandering around out there? Surely the short walk from hotel to car door and from car door to station house couldn’t have resulted in this?_ Cooper looks half-drowned. His shirt-collar has gone semi-transparent and his trench-coat, now a dark sandy colour, is dripping a steady stream of rainwater onto the carpet. Glancing at the darkening patch, Harry notices the trail of pine needles and mud that he has tracked in. If he weren’t so distracted, he might be wondering what disquieting dream vision or hastily telephoned-in information from the Bureau had dragged Cooper out into the woods so early in the day. Instead, looking at his dishevelled appearance, Harry feels weak with love. 

The biting cold has brought a rosy glow to Cooper’s cheeks and to the end of his nose, and a loose lock of hair hangs across his brow, dripping rainwater. _God, he’s beautiful._ Without thinking, Harry reaches out and gently tucks the stray lock of hair back into place. For just a moment the back of his fingers brush against skin and Cooper stops talking. His expression shifts to something indecipherable - his eyes flit to Harry’s: bright, searching; the beginning of a smile plays across his half-open mouth. He draws in an audible breath. 

“Harry – “ he begins to say, his voice low and earnest, but the Sheriff interrupts before he can continue. 

“C’mon,” he says, dropping his hand to Cooper’s shoulder, “Let’s get you some coffee before you need Rain For Hypothermia.”

* 

As Cooper shoulders off his coat and hangs it up to dry, Harry faces the cupboards in the kitchen cubby and tries to focus on the task at hand. _Coffee._ Selecting the correct mug suddenly becomes of crucial importance. He picks up the light green one that’s sitting on the draining board before hesitating and returning it to the cupboard. It doesn’t hold much coffee, and Cooper would probably be glad of a bigger measure after getting cold and wet. Perhaps with his love of incongruity he might be amused by drinking from the Santa Claus mug out of season. No, that’s dumb. He pauses, tense, at the choice between an orange department mug and a yellow one, before sighing heavily at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was only a small touch. It’s not like he swept Coop into his arms and laid one on him. He hadn’t jerked away, which is something. Maybe he’ll think nothing of it. Perhaps it’s the type of gesture which he regularly exchanges with his friends. Somehow that thought hurts worse.

He pours the remainder of the pot into the nearest mug only slightly too forcefully, and hands it to Cooper when he joins him in the cubby. He accepts it with a beaming smile which warmly washes away Harry’s troubled thoughts. Taking a huge sip, he hums contentedly before turning his attention to Harry.

“Thank-you Harry. It’s a lot colder out today than I had anticipated. I suspect I may have caught a chill.” 

“Walking around in the rain’ll do that to you.”

Cooper laughs softly. His expression is apologetic but at the same time pleased, as if being wet through is a noble human experience that Harry has yet to discover.

Harry picks up the coffee jug, intending to pour one for himself, before reconsidering. There’s barely enough for a mug. He thinks nothing of leaning into Cooper’s space to pour the remainder into his mug. When Cooper’s hand lightly touches his arm in a silent gesture of thanks, he feels overwhelmed all over again. 

“What were you doin’ out there anyway?” he asks, conversationally, spooning coffee grounds into the machine’s basket.

“Well Harry, I woke up this morning feeling unsettled and resolved to clear my mind of distractions before today’s investigation. To this end I took a walk and shared some matters which are troubling me with your wonderful trees. Did you know that Douglas Firs are very good listeners? I believe I have underestimated the wisdom of the Log Lady in conversing with inanimate wood.”

“Somethin’ happen to your tape recorder?”

“No, it’s in perfect working order.” He pats his pocket. “It’s merely that there are some things I cannot tell the Bureau.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry says, amused. It’s hard to imagine what he would keep from Diane. Only yesterday he and Hawk had shared a laugh after overhearing Cooper enquiring “Have you ever really looked at the structure of a pinecone Diane?” Thinking of it again is bringing a smile to his face. 

Met with silence, he turns and finds Cooper looking at him with uncertainty in his eyes. He swallows hard, starts to speak, and stops. Harry feels a pang of concern. Moving into Cooper’s personal space a little, he reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. He lets his thumb smooth out an imaginary wrinkle, ducking his head a little and seeking out eye contact. 

“Whatever it is, we can deal with it together.”

Coop’s eyes brighten, and he laughs lightly before smiling at Harry a little sadly.

“As much as I appreciate your trust Harry, I think you should hear what the problem is before you commit yourself to helping.”

“Alright. Shoot.” He settles back against the counter.

“What I have to tell you is of a private nature.” He moves as if to close the roller partition. “May I - ?”

“Go ahead.”

With the shutters closed, Cooper turns back and swallows.

“Despite my intentions to the contrary, I have let personal feelings distract me from the case.” He pronounces it like a death sentence, and Harry’s heart aches in a way he doesn’t want to examine.

“You’re only human Coop.”

He softens but the words have failed to bring the comfort Harry had hoped. Cooper wrings his hands together, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. His gaze flits to Harry’s before looking away. Eventually, he draws in a short breath and his words come out in a rush.

“The fact is I’m in love with you Harry, and my intuition cannot distinguish between the butterflies in my stomach and the deductive indications of my gut. My dreams have become an unreliable source of information. I lie awake at night with tingling in my fingers and toes and I can’t get my thoughts straight. My conversation with the majestic Douglas Firs has confirmed my earlier suspicion that I need to address this before I can once again trust my own subconscious mind. Harry, please say something.”

Stunned doesn’t adequately cover it. Harry feels like perhaps he drifted off at his desk and this is all some strange wonderful dream - but the rain still hammers on the roof of the station. He picks up a mug from the counter and its solidity grounds him in reality.

“That was a lot of words there, Coop,” Harry says slowly, hesitantly. “Am I getting this right, that you – have feelings for me?”

Cooper opens his mouth to say something, but then stops and nods, mutely. Harry finds himself taking in a gulp of air and breathing it out in a little huff of soft laughter which breaks into a grin. He half-shakes his head, breathes in, blinks, laughs softly to himself again. Opposite him, Cooper smiles weakly and uncertainly. He looks a little queasy.

“Harry – “ he begins, to say, but Harry cuts him off.

“I – uh – “ He hasn’t thought what to say in this situation. It seemed too impossible to even consider it, and yet here it is – happening, and he doesn’t know what to do. _There’s no mistakin’ a kiss_ his internal voice reminds him helpfully.

He puts his coffee mug on the counter, steps into Cooper’s personal space, and sees his eyes go bright, hopeful. Slowly but surely, he slides his hand up Cooper’s upper arm, still slightly damp from the rain. He squeezes his shoulder before placing his hand lightly against his cheek. The hard line of Cooper’s jaw presses against his palm. His ear is cold against Harry’s fingertips, his hair still a little wet. A half-smile tugs at his mouth, exactly like the one after Harry had rearranged his hair. Goddamn. He could just look at that forever. He leans in slowly, slowly, slowly until there’s barely any space between them - before closing his eyes and letting Cooper close the gap. His hand comes up to rest against Harry’s chest, and he kisses like Harry thought he might – gentle and slow and full of feeling. All too soon, it's over. Cooper smiles into their kiss, and he smiles back, and like that, they come back to themselves. 

He holds Cooper close, pressing his face into neck. He’s brought the smell of the forest in with him – the scent of pines and rain and earth.

“I really have the trees to thank for you tellin’ me?” he murmurs.

“- and Albert.”

Incredulous, he loosens his embrace to look Cooper in the face and is met with a delighted grin. 

“Huh. So he is good for somethin’ besides his sparkling personality and knowing his way around a morgue.” 

Coop is staring at his mouth. “Enough about Albert.” he says, tugging Harry back into another kiss and pushing him against the counter.

The sound of the rain melts away, and so does the creaking of the pines in the wind and the rumble of cars outside. Everything narrows to Cooper’s mouth on his, the feeling of holding him in his arms, the touch of his hands in Harry’s hair or grasping at his shirt. His kisses are insistent, wanting, hurried, before stilling, softening, pressing more chastely, murmuring “…Harry.” He gathers Cooper more firmly into his arms and kisses him sure and slow; forgets the world of violence and cruelty outside, forgets the world at all.

Until that is, the roller partition is being pulled back and there’s the sound of someone gasping in shocked surprise. They break apart immediately, breathless and unsure of what to do with their hands. In the doorway stands Lucy with her hand over her mouth, blue eyes blown wide. Beside her stands Hawk, arms full of pink donut boxes, looking far less surprised. Harry coughs, and tries to compose himself. He can’t quite take his eyes off Cooper, his rumpled clothing and kiss-sore lips. He supposes he doesn’t look much better himself. 

“Good Morning Agent Cooper, Sheriff Truman.” Lucy says, in a fast, high voice. “I’ll put the donuts in the Conference Room…”

“Thanks Lucy –“ Harry replies, voice coming out hoarse.

She turns and scurries away, leaving Hawk to look between them with eyes lit with amusement. He gives a slow, approving nod before shifting the tower of teetering pink boxes in his arms and following Lucy in the direction of the conference room. Yes, Harry is glad his Deputy is a man of subtlety and discretion. 

He looks back to Coop and finds him smiling in a way which suggests he is feeling pleased with both the situation and with himself. He doesn’t seem embarrassed in the least to be caught with Harry. As with everything he does there’s a reassuring calmness to proceedings, like he’s thought through every possible eventuality and is happily surprised that it was this one. 

The doors bang as more staff arrive for work. He clears his throat once, twice, and tries to focus on everyday things. 

“If this rain doesn’t let up soon we’re gonna have to send men to deal with structural damage on highway nine.”

“Harry,” Cooper says lightly “as interesting as I find everything about Twin Peaks, if I stay here any longer I’m going to kiss you again, and I might not be able to stop.”

“Damn, Coop.” He pauses: excited, still a little disbelieving. “Well - how about we reconvene this later, and you don’t stop? Kissing me, that is.”

“Harry, I’d be honoured.”

A pause. He isn’t sure what to say.

“Best take this in,” he says, handing Cooper the full jug of coffee, and turning bashfully to the machine. “I’ll, uh, put on a fresh pot. Don’t wanna upset Lucy…again…” 

Cooper’s hand briefly comes to rest on top of his own on the counter, light and reassuring, before he steps away. 

* 

When Harry enters the conference room with the fresh jug of coffee, Cooper has regained his usual composure. There’s not a single crease in his suit jacket or a hair out of place; in short, nothing to suggest that he recently kissed Harry senseless. With a coffee in one hand and a jelly donut in the other, he is absorbed in conversation with Lucy. From what Harry can catch, it seems about the most recent episode of _Invitation To Love._

“Morning Sheriff,” Andy pipes up. In an impressive feat of avoidance, he’s enjoying his coffee at a distance from both Lucy and Albert, who is restlessly shifting papers around with one finger. 

“Mornin’ Andy,” he says easily, “Albert.”

Albert greets him with an exasperated jerk of his head. He’s glaring his usual daggers, but they seem blunted today. He looks Harry up and down and his eyes gleam with knowing amusement.

“Tell me, is it usual practice in Hicksville for the Sheriff to be late to his own briefing meeting or haven’t you learned to read the time yet?” 

Harry tenses, but he softens again when Cooper glances up and gives him a look, fond and conspiratorial. There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, which he hides in his mug of coffee. Warmth blossoms in Harry’s chest, and he smiles back with far less subtlety. 

Outside the windows, the rain continues to pour down and the trees still creak in the wind. There’s a sorta evil out there, Harry’s always known it , even more so these days; but since the morning’s events he thinks perhaps a stronger, more hopeful Twin Peaks isn’t so impossible after all. Perhaps it had arrived when Cooper did.

The day stretches out in front of him; its tasks heavy and wearying. More uncomfortable questions to be asked, some seemingly futile leads to follow, and a forensic report from the FBI’s most unlikely agony aunt to endure, but first, that maple bear claw… 

And later – a very special Special Agent.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I started watching Twin Peaks for the first time this year, and I am besotted. <3 I'm watching on a once-a-week basis, in true 90s TV style, and I'm currently at the beginning of S2 - hence the timeframe of this fic. 
> 
> Thanks to my own one-time partner-in-detection C.B. for suggesting the coffee cubby as a make-out location. 
> 
> Thankyou for reading! Comments are super appreciated. I can be found on tumblr [ @nettlekettle.](http://nettlekettle.tumblr.com/) \- please feel free to say hi! I'd love to chat with more fans of Harry & Dale (or indeed, Albert who I LOVE)


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